


Transgression

by SplinterCell



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Also I'm posting this on my birthday so you're required by law to comment :), Anal Sex, Awful!Jack Rollins, HYDRA Husbands, Heed the tags!, It's not extremely graphic, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, but it's not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/pseuds/SplinterCell
Summary: He looks small and vulnerable, sitting with his head bowed and his hair falling around his face. He looks so beautiful like this, and all it took was a few careful words in the right ear.





	Transgression

***

The techs call it the Recovery Room, but it’s just a disused clerk’s office that was given the barest possible overhaul to convert it for its current use. It was repurposed long before Jack joined SHIELD, and it reminds him of an interrogation cell, but the scraps of old wallpaper that show through the stark white paint, and the ornate panelled ceiling hidden underneath fluorescent strip lighting still hint at the role it used to fulfil.

The same can’t be said for the man slumped on an old metal cot pushed up against the far wall.

Rumlow had been his usual vain and cocksure self just twenty-four hours ago, barking orders at Jack like he was nothing more than a rookie and strutting through the Triskelion’s halls like he was God’s gift to womankind. But now, stripped of his uniform with its ridiculous harness and wearing nothing but a threadbare grey t-shirt and thin boxers, he is almost unrecognisable.

He looks small and vulnerable, sitting with his head bowed and his hair falling around his face. He looks so beautiful like this, and all it took was a few careful words in the right ear.span>

Rumlow doesn’t look up when Jack enters the room, or at the sound of two heavy-duty bolts sliding home. It’s not until Jack comes to stand right in front of him that Rumlow even stirs, blinking up at him with eyes ringed with dark circles. He doesn’t react when Jack pushes his hair back from his face, but he hisses when Jack drags his fingernail across the reddened and blistered skin at his temples.

“How many times do you have to be taught, baby? Huh?” he asks, cupping Rumlow’s face between his palms. “Hydra doesn’t tolerate deviations, you of all people _know_ that.”

Rumlow frowns as he tries to remember whatever he’s supposed to know but doesn’t answer.

“Hmm. What’s your name?” Jack tries instead, but Rumlow just stares at him and then shakes his head.

_Perfect._

Jack can’t help but smile. “Alright.” He steps back and then points to himself. “How about me then? Do you know who _I_ am?”

Rumlow blinks again, like he always does, his eyes searching Jack’s face and his lips moving as he tries to pull his scattered memories together, but this time his answer is unexpected. “Jack,” he croaks out at last, and Jack sucks in a sharp breath in surprise.

Not Rollins. Not _Scarface_ , or _Lurch,_ or _Fuckhead_ , or _Shit-for-brains,_  or any of the other stupid nicknames Rumlow’s given him over the years.

_Jack._

And goddamn if that doesn’t make this even sweeter.

“Good,” Jack murmurs, not missing the way Rumlow’s eyes brighten in relief. “Now get up, and strip.”

Rumlow does, and it doesn’t matter how many times it happens, or what else occurs during these encounters; watching Rumlow ( _Rumlow!_ ) comply with an order _Jack’s_ given him is enough all by itself to get him hard.

The t-shirt drops to the floor first, but Rumlow sways like a newborn foal when he stands up and stumbles so badly when he tries to step out of his boxers that it’s only Jack lunging forwards to catch him that prevents him from collapsing face-first onto the unforgiving concrete floor.

“Easy, easy,” Jack says, steadying him with a firm arm around his shoulders and guiding him back down onto the edge of the cot. “I’ll do it.” He sinks to his knees and works Rumlow’s boxers off his hips and then down his legs. “There we go,” he murmurs once they’re off, sitting back on his heels and letting his eyes crawl over every inch of Rumlow’s naked body in shameless appreciation. “I think that’s _much_ better, don’t you?”

Rumlow looks better than guys half his age, and he knows it. Flaunts it at every opportunity, too; training in the gym in tight-fitting compression gear and swaggering around the locker room afterwards with just one flimsy towel slung low on his hips. He likes people looking—wants them to even—but then he punishes them afterwards with his fists on the training mats, and with words he wields with the same ferocity in boardroom briefings.

But not when he’s fresh out of the Chair.

Rumlow’s voice trembles as he answers. “I- I… don’t…”

“Nah, course you don’t.” Jack laughs, running his palms up Rumlow’s thickly muscled thighs. “Right now, you’re just a real pretty face with a rocking hot body, aren’t you? You’ve got nothing going on in that thick skull of yours at all.”

But there will be if Jack waits much longer; Rumlow isn’t enhanced like the Asset, but even so this period of extreme confusion and pliability doesn’t last long. It’s a shame though, because Jack could easily spend the whole time just looking at him. Hell, he did exactly that the first time he pulled this stunt off; didn’t even touch him; just sat there in silent disbelief that it had _worked_ and watched the shallow rise and fall of Rumlow’s chest as he breathed until it was time to leave.

But those days are long past.

Rumlow doesn’t react when Jack starts jerking him off with slow but sure strokes. It’s been a slow and frustrating process of trial and error, but over the years Jack has filed away every little thing he’s stumbled across that makes Rumlow twitch and gasp and moan—until he knows this body even better than his own—and he watches Rumlow’s face closely as he works him to full hardness, searching for the telltale signs he’s taking an interest in what Jack’s doing to him, waiting for just the right moment to-

Rumlow shivers when Jack licks a long, wet stripe up his cock to tease the head. He does it again, and then again, and again, until another quick glance upwards confirms that Jack has Rumlow’s undivided attention.

He draws back, grabs one of Rumlow’s hands and places it on the back of his head. “Hold on to me,” he orders, and a moment later he feels the other hand join it. “Good boy,” he murmurs before taking Rumlow into his mouth properly.

He hollows his cheeks and presses his tongue against the underside of Rumlow’s cock as he starts moving, taking him a little more deeply into his mouth each time, and it isn’t long until Jack hears him start to pant, his fingers twitching in Jack’s hair as his hips jerk in an uneven rhythm.

Rumlow’s head is thrown back when Jack looks up again; his eyes half-closed and those sinful lips parted as he greedily reaches for the orgasm Jack is pushing him towards.

Sometimes Jack likes to drag it out. Likes to push him right up to the edge and then draw away, over and over and over again until he has Rumlow writhing underneath him and bucking up into empty air. He’s always so beautiful when he’s in torment with tears streaming down his anguished face as he desperately searches for words he doesn’t remember to ask for something he can’t describe.

But as fun as that is—as satisfying it is to have it be _his_ boot on _Rumlow’s_ neck—that’s not the game Jack wants to play today, not when it’s been so long since his Commander’s last ‘transgression’, and his own erection is straining against the zipper of his pants.

Rumlow’s close already, pre-cum salty and bitter in Jack’s mouth when he moves forward again and swallows him down in one smooth movement. It makes his throat burn and his eyes water, but it’s worth it for high-pitched and needy whine it draws out of Rumlow’s mouth. That sound sets Jack’s pulse racing and his blood pounding in his ears, and he pulls away far enough away for Rumlow’s cock to almost slip from his mouth, licks his lips, and then takes him down again slowly.

Inch by tortuous inch, with Rumlow’s legs shaking under his hands, until Jack’s nose is pressed against his abdomen, and then Rumlow groans as he comes, his fingers clenching in Jack’s hair tightly enough to hurt.   

Jack pulls away and wipes his mouth and chin on Rumlow’s discarded t-shirt. For a moment, the silence in the room is broken only by their breathing, but then Rumlow lets go of Jack’s hair without being told, one of his hands coming around to trace the scar that runs from Jack’s lower lip down and across his jaw.

“Yeah, no,” Jack growls, catching his hand and wrenching his wrist backwards until Rumlow cries out. He doesn’t remember his own fucking name, but he’s still drawn to the jagged line he gave Jack so many years ago. “My turn now.” He climbs to his feet and shoving his pants down one one-handed.

Rumlow’s howl echoes around the room when Jack pushes his legs back and enters him with just spit to lubricate the way. His body tenses as it tries to resist the intrusion, but he’s far too weak to muster any real fight as Jack holds his legs back and bears down.

“Fuck, baby,” Jack breathes, bottoming out inside him with a groan.

Even straight out of the Chair he’s _tight_. Like a goddamn virgin. Jack starts fucking into him slowly, each shallow thrust dragging ragged sounds from Rumlow’s throat that shoot straight to Jack’s cock.

It’ll be months at least before Jack gets to experience this again, and he wants to savour it. _Months_ until he gets to feel Rumlow’s ass clenching around his cock again; or the way his legs tremble and his chest heaves as he sucks in deep, shuddering breaths; or his nails scrabbling at Jack’s shoulders as he tries to push him off, and the way he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away when he realises he can’t.

“No,” Jack snarls, grabbing hold of Rumlow’s chin. “You open your eyes and you _look at me_ ,” he adds, and Rumlow does; staring up at him in silent pleading with wet, red-rimmed eyes.

Fuck it, there’s always next time. He’ll savour it next time.

Jack pulls him onto his cock in one rough motion, and Rumlow cries out again. Pain flares across Jack’s face a moment later, sharp and stinging and so unexpected that it takes a moment for him to realise that Rumlow’s _scratched_ him.

“Now that was stupid.” He grabs both of Rumlow’s wrists in one hand and pinning them to the mattress, and then slapping him with the other, open-palmed and hard. Rumlow’s head snaps to the side from its force.

But he doesn’t dare fight back again, not when Jack slaps him again harder still, or when he closes his hand tight around Rumlow’s throat. “Say my name,” Jack orders. He digs his fingers into his jaw when there’s no reply. “I gave you an order, didn’t I? Say my _fucking name_.”

“Jack,” Rumlow whispers at once, the word just about audible.

Not good enough; even if the sound of Jack’s name on Rumlow’s lips is a goddamn treat. “Louder,” he says, and Rumlow tries. Jack grins sharply, turning Rumlow’s face to the side so he can whisper in his ear. “No, baby. _Louder._ I can’t _hear_ you.”

The muscles of Rumlow’s throat work frantically under Jack’s palm as he struggles to breathe around the punishing grip on his throat. “Jack,” he manages in the end, his voice little more than a hoarse gasp, and fuck—

Rumlow’s whole body convulses when Jack snaps his hips forwards. He tries to scream, but it comes out as little more than a choked-off gurgle. His eyes roll back into his head as Jack settles into a brutal rhythm, his face flushing a dark scarlet as Jack bears down.

It's so good and so hot, and over far too soon; Rumlow spasms around him one last time as his body makes a last-ditch attempt for air and then his body goes limp, and Jack comes with a grunt a moment later. He releases his grip on Rumlow’s throat and presses his face into the crook of his neck as he rides out the aftershocks.

 _Goddamn,_ but that’s a good way to de-stress.

Jack pushes himself up and pulls out with a low groan, Rumlow curling around himself as he wheezes and whimpers. It’s pathetic, Jack thinks; one fuck and he’s acting like he’s had a knife shoved into his guts. If Jack could keep him for longer, for the whole weekend, he’d show Rumlow how bad it could be. But Rumlow isn’t like the Asset; his sessions in the Chair are for maintenance only, not reprogramming.

Until Insight ushers in their brave new world, anyway. Then Jack will have all the time he wants to push Rumlow until he breaks and then put him back together just the way he wants him.

He wipes himself off with Rumlow’s boxers and then tosses them and the t-shirt at the prone form on the bed. “Get dressed,” he orders, and Rumlow does, moving slowly and mechanically until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed again, staring down at the floor. It’s almost a mirror of the position he was in when Jack saw him, only now his hands tremble where they rest on his thighs.

Rumlow’s skin is clammy against Jack’s lips when he bends down to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday,” he whispers into Rumlow’s ear. “ _Commander._ ”

***

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Did I ever think I would write a non-con fic? No, no I did not. Sorry.


End file.
